


Working Tidal

by roswyrm



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: (the damsels are zolf and wilde respectively), Assumed Relationship, Canon Asexual Character, Consent Issues, Damsels in Distress, Dreams vs. Reality, Drowning, Emotional Manipulation, Hallucinations, M/M, MerMay, Mind Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Near Death Experiences, Sharing a Bed, Sharing a Room, Sirens, Sleep Deprivation, THE VORE IS A JOKE, THERE'S NOT ACTUAL VORE IN THIS FIC I PROMISE, Vore, background azu/sasha, bc sirens, bc wilde, but not really? wilde just thinks he's hallucinating, its more near-cannabalism tbh, its... its fluff i swear, this is gonna get abandoned so fast yalls heads are gonna spin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 07:57:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 16,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18774478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: siren's song (n.) — an alluring utterance or appeal : especially one that is seductive or deceptive





	1. the siren sings so sweetly

**Author's Note:**

> i uh. have nothing to say for myself. i was gonna pick a better title and then i decided "fuck it" so this is what yallre stuck with. go bother @trashmctrashkingofthetrashhills on tumblr!!! he's the one that drew the lovely art in this fic, and also helped come up with it, and also also made me cry bc i just,,,,,, have you seen his siren!hamid design,,,,,,,,, so preddy,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, ANYWAY here take this pile of garbage

It’s a skeleton crew on a skeleton ship, which means that no one hears the song except Zolf. Sasha, up in the crow’s nest, is three-quarters deaf after standing too close to cannon fire. She’s farther up from the waves, as well, so the sound would barely reach her anyway. 

It reaches Zolf just fine. Zolf can hear the slow, high notes piercing the humid air with crystal clarity, and he feels them hooking into his chest.

For a split second, he understands.  
For a split second, he tries to slam a hand onto the mast so that Sasha can feel the juddering and save him.  
For a split second, he tries to yell, _“Sasha! Siren!”_

But then, he wonders why he’d ever want to run from that song. Why he’d ever need to be saved from something so beautiful. He can’t run the boat aground, that would catch Sasha’s attention, and she’d stop him from getting closer. So Zolf, very calmly, walks to a lifeboat and starts lowering himself into the water. Sasha calls, “Captain?” but it’s so faint beneath the haunting melody Zolf’s wrapped up in that he barely hears her. “Captain, where are you going?” If she gets suspicious, she’ll stop him. 

Zolf turns and signs up, “Thought I saw something. I’ll be right back.” Sasha studies him as he goes, squinting like she’s smelled something rotten, but she doesn’t try and stop him. The song continues, the notes drawing on for so long that the siren can’t have any breath left in its lungs. If sirens need to breathe. Do they? Zolf’s been sailing for seven years, but all he knows about sirens is that you’re supposed to avoid them. That’s hardly an option now.

The song pulls him along, farther and farther from the _Ranger,_ until the only thing around him is the deep black waves. Zolf doesn’t mind. He’ll be dead either way — how close he is to his ship doesn’t matter. 

And then, the song stops. The boat rocks and Zolf turns to see the siren. His siren. “Oh,” says the siren, cocking his head, “you came here alone.” He isn’t singing, but Zolf still feels the song’s spell wound tight around his heart. Maybe it works as long as you’re listening or looking. It seems like Zolf will be spellbound for a while — he can’t tear his eyes away. 

Zolf stammers, “I– yeah, I didn’t want to– my friend would have stopped me, otherwise.” It’s an apology. It shouldn’t be an apology, Zolf shouldn’t be apologising for not killing his crew in their sleep. The siren pouts. Zolf doesn’t know if it’s the song or his own lonely heart that makes him reach out to hold the siren’s face in his hand. “I’m here,” he says. It’s a consolation prize, an offering.

There’s something so inhuman about the way his siren’s eyes light up. The moon and the stars are dim by comparison. “I’m glad you are. Come on, this way.” He slips back out of the boat (out of Zolf’s grasp) and starts swimming. Zolf is helpless to do anything but follow.

The siren stops at a small island of dark blue-green stone. “It’s an underwater cave,” he says, and Zolf can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm. He’s been sailing for seven years, and he knows that as soon as he gets out of his boat, the siren will grin with too-sharp teeth and drown him. Sirens eat sailors. That’s how things are. Zolf knows he should care, but the song is still echoing in his ears, the siren’s smile still blinds him, and that tamps down any feelings about that other than acceptance. The siren stops, though, frowns at him thoughtfully. “Can you swim? I imagine it’s hard, with the– well, the lack of… um...” Zolf laughs. Poor siren, he doesn’t know how to be tactful. It’s endearing.

The siren pouts some more, slicking his wet hair back from his forehead. He looks about to apologise, or maybe snap at him, but Zolf doesn’t want to hurt his feelings any more than he already has. “I can swim fine,” he says. _You’re going to kill me anyway,_ he thinks. The siren takes his hand to help him out of the boat. Zolf doesn’t even care that he’s about to drown. The warmth from the siren’s hand in his own eclipses any rational thought.

The water is cold, which is strange because the air had been so warm around him. He can’t see anything in the darkness, but something pulls at his arm, and Zolf tries to swim toward it. It doesn’t take long for his breath to turn stale in his chest, for his lungs to start burning in protest. He’s almost drowned once before. Everyone says it’s the best way to die, but they’re wrong. Drowning hurts, and there’s a screaming sense of panic that comes with losing your ability to breathe. At least, there should be. But the siren’s song ringing in his ears soothes out his panic and his worry, and drowning is _so easy._

Except, then the hand lets go of his. And the siren’s song leaves. And Zolf _panics._ The siren grabs at his throat, and Zolf tries to jerk away. The tips of claws dig into the back of his neck, though, holding him in place as the siren gets closer. The only thing Zolf knows about sirens is to avoid them. Drowning hurts, but Zolf would take that over being eaten alive. A sharp thumb digs into Zolf’s jaw, and then the siren kisses him.

The panic recedes immediately, replaced by a soft hum in his brain. _Air,_ Zolf realises belatedly, _he’s helping me breathe._ It’s unexpectedly kind, and it makes his heart beat faster in his chest. Or maybe that’s the numbing magic in the siren’s touch. The siren’s hold on his neck softens, turns from a death grip to a guiding hand. His other hand moves back into Zolf’s and squeezes. Zolf takes the cue and holds his breath. The siren pulls away from him and then starts leading Zolf further underwater, closer to the cave.

It’s surprisingly easy to forget the thing holding his hand isn’t human. The siren pulls him out of the water, and Zolf manages only to hack out his lungs a little bit. The siren smiles sheepishly at him. “Sorry. I didn’t know how much air you needed.” Zolf waves a hand at him. He doesn’t mind. He should, Zolf knows he _should,_ but he doesn’t. He pulls himself up onto the small rock outcropping and brushes his hair out of his face. The siren smiles up at him before looking at the rest of the cave. “Isn’t it beautiful?” He asks the question dreamily, as though the cave is the most breathtaking thing in the entire world.

Zolf raises an eyebrow at him. “The whole ‘siren’ thing makes it kind of hard for me to stop looking at _you.”_ It’s unnecessarily rude. The siren laughs, though, and the chill from the water drains away in half a second. 

The siren lifts himself onto the outcropping right next to Zolf and leans his head on Zolf’s shoulder. _“Now_ look,” he directs, and Zolf does. 

And he was right: the cave is beautiful. There’s light coming in from somewhere, glinting off of tiny shards of sea-glass and bathing everything in sparkling blues and greens. And maybe it isn’t the most beautiful thing Zolf’s ever seen, (the siren right next to him wins that title easily) but it steals his breath nonetheless. “Wow,” is all he can say, and the siren laughs. “Is this– how did you find this place?” It doesn’t matter, of course, Zolf’s not ever going to be able to show anyone. But he wants to listen to the siren talk forever. It’s not the same as his song, but the way the siren’s voice lifts and falls still captures him, still takes hold of him by the heart and pulls him closer.

The siren hums noncommittally. “Exploring. The same way I found your ship.” And that brings Zolf back to a question he’d meant to ask earlier.

“Are you going to kill me?”

The siren stills. He takes his head off of Zolf’s shoulder and edges closer to the water, and the second they stop touching, Zolf wants to pull him back. Although, now Zolf can see him, and that’s nice. He’s a nice thing to see. “Yes,” the siren answers softly, “yes, I’m going to kill you.” At least he’s honest. That’s sweet of him. “But not yet. I want to talk first.”

Zolf figures it’s as good an opportunity as any — he’s been wondering since he first heard the song. “Do you have a name?” The siren’s face falls, and Zolf feels his heart drop with it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to– whatever I did.” The siren huffs, and he looks… frustrated? Apologetic? Drained? (Beautiful, but that’s not important at the moment.)

The siren asks, “Do you care?” Zolf stares at him blankly. The answer is probably yes — Zolf cares about a lot of things, no matter how much he tries to hide it. “I’m going to kill you,” the siren repeats, “do you care at all?” That wasn’t what they were talking about. Zolf doesn’t really want to talk about himself; he wants to know as much about this siren as he can. 

Zolf shrugs. “I probably would if you hadn’t sung at me,” he answers. The siren’s stormy expression twists back into remorse, and Zolf gets the feeling that he’s not helping when the siren starts chewing on his lip. Zolf pulls the siren’s bottom lip from between the too-sharp teeth worrying at it and assures him, “It’s okay. Really.” He doesn’t understand what’s wrong, but he doesn’t want to make things worse.

The siren sighs. “My name’s Hamid.”   
_Hamid._  
His siren’s name is _Hamid._

It’s a good name. It fits him, somehow, despite _its_ humanity and _his_ distinct lack of it.

“Hamid,” Zolf repeats. Hamid looks worried. Or maybe sad. Or maybe exhausted. (He looks like a dream come to life, the way the light glints warmly off of him. There’s something iridescent about him. Maybe one or two tiny brass scales along his cheekbones catch the light, somehow, and _that’s_ what’s making him glow.) Zolf only just notices the way his siren’s dark eyes grow darker as slitted pupils widen into something resembling circles. “Hamid,” Zolf says again, softer, just to make sure he’s got the name right. Just to hear it echo around the cave. Just to see how his siren reacts.

Hamid bites at his lip again before whispering, “Can you promise me something?”  
“Anything.”  
“Please don’t try and hurt me.”  
“I would never—”  
“Yes, but promise.”  
“I promise.”

Hamid looks at him for a long moment, and Zolf thinks _(hopes, prays)_ Hamid is going to kiss him again. And then the soft humming in his ears goes quiet. 

The spell loosens, and Zolf can breathe, can think, can feel like his own person again. Turns out, being free from mind-magic makes the small distance between his hand and the siren’s teeth seem a hell of a lot more dangerous.

Zolf scrabbles backward. Hamid doesn’t try and follow. He just says, very calmly, “Look, I’m not going to—” Zolf picks up a loose rock and chucks it at him— “hey! You promised!” Zolf starts feeling behind him for another rock.

He doesn’t find one, so he stalls, “You made me! With the weird siren magic!” Hamid rolls his eyes and scoffs. Which is awfully high and mighty for the fish person who _made out with him_ not even two minutes before! 

Oh, shit, Zolf kissed a siren. 

Well, he can cross that off the bucket list of stupid things he regrets but somehow survived. Right up there with trying to fight a water elemental. Gods, Zolf lost a leg to that elemental, he wonders what he’ll lose this time. His tongue, maybe? It’d be thematically appropriate, at least.

Hamid slips back into the water just as Zolf finds another rock. “Would you just _listen_ to me for five minutes?” Hamid ducks under the water and the pebble sails over his head. He comes back up, raking his hair out of his face, and snaps, “I asked you while you were still enthralled so this wouldn’t happen! It’s hard to have a conversation when you’re dodging rocks!” There’s not really anywhere else to go, seeing as the tiny shelf Zolf’s on is surrounded by water.

Zolf glares at him. Hamid glares back. His eyes are still noticeably inhuman even in the dim blue-green light — his pupils have narrowed back into slits, and it makes Zolf shudder. “Why would you want to have a conversation with your meal?” Hamid’s face squinches up, and it’s not cute even a little bit, because he’s an evil, man-eating sea spirit. He looks offended and vaguely annoyed.

Still staying far away from Zolf, Hamid argues, “I’m not going to eat you! Calm down and stop throwing things at me!” Zolf throws another rock at him. Hamid ducks back down and the stone drops into the water. When he resurfaces, water droplets steam off of him. He huffs, “I understand that you’re angry–”

“Because you lured me to a cave with the intent to kill me!”  
“And then I changed my mind!”  
“Why should I believe you?”  
“Because it’s that or being stuck here forever! Now, are you going to keep trying to pelt your only way out of here with rocks, or are you going to _listen to me?”_

Hamid looks absolutely furious, and that is in no way attractive whatsoever. Zolf settles back against the cave wall. “Fine,” he bites, “but if you sing at me again, I’ll fry you.” Hamid scowls. He swims back to the shelf and pulls himself up just far enough away that Zolf can’t touch him. Not that Zolf _wants_ to touch him, that’s just the remnants of the song. Hamid combs through his hair with his fingers, and Zolf realises that it’s already dry. He doesn’t want to ask how the siren managed that, though. He’s dealt with enough weird magic for one night already. 

After a moment, (are all sirens this finicky about their appearance?) Hamid sighs. “I’m not going to kill you—”

“How generous,” Zolf deadpans. Hamid glares. His eyes catch some bit of light, and they shine the same metallic colour as his scales. 

More forcefully, Hamid repeats, _“I’m not going to kill you_ because I never realised what the thrall was like. I didn’t know it made someone so… helpless. I mean, you didn’t even care that I was going to drown you! That’s not– I mean, that isn’t _right.”_ Zolf raises an eyebrow. He doesn’t know anything about sirens except to avoid them, but he’s pretty sure ‘morality’ isn’t one of the things they typically care about.

“Why do you care about right and wrong?” Hamid glares harder, looking so _very_ done with Zolf. Zolf bites down on his tongue to suppress the sudden, inane urge to apologise. He doesn’t have to apologise, he’s not the one who lured someone away from his ship in order to _eat him._ Stupid siren’s song aftereffects.

Hamid’s bitter expression softens, turns into something like confusion, and he moves closer. Zolf’s run out of shelf, so he can’t move back. Hamid reaches out and takes Zolf’s face in his hand, ignoring Zolf’s violent protesting. “Oh, dear,” he murmurs.

Zolf bats at his hand. Hamid doesn’t let himself be batted, staying right where he is: far too close for comfort. “‘Oh dear’ what?” Zolf snaps, and Hamid _does_ let go at that. He looks concerned, apologetic, gorgeo— gods _damnit!_ Zolf growls, “Stay out of my head,” and Hamid sucks air through his teeth. And then he vanishes, diving back into the water in half a second. Zolf scrambles to his feet and shouts, “Hey! Get back here!” His voice reverberates around the cavern, turning hollow and unintelligible. 

Hamid doesn’t come back. 

Damnit. 

How the hell is Zolf going to get back to his ship? Stupid siren, abandoning him. How could he do that? How could he just _leave?_ Hamid obviously felt bad for him, obviously wasn’t going to hurt him, so how could he just drop Zolf? Just leave him here, alone, like he isn’t important at all? It hurts, physically, twisting in his chest like loneliness, like longing, like a broken rib. Hamid doesn’t come back for too long, for long enough that Zolf starts to worry. And he shouldn’t be worried for the evil sea-spirit that was going to kill him, that abandoned him here with no way of getting back to his crew, but he is. For some unknowable reason, concern claws at his throat, and his hands twist together as he paces the tiny shelf. It’s just the aftereffects of the song, but they don’t go away. If anything, they get worse. Damnit. The concern and the longing writhe, and Zolf feels _sick._

“I may have made a mistake,” Hamid announces, and Zolf whirls. He didn’t hear him, he was so caught up in his own thoughts, but Hamid’s _there,_ and Hamid’s _safe,_ and Hamid _didn’t abandon him._

And _none of that matters,_ because Zolf would have found a way to get back on his own, and he certainly doesn’t care if the siren gets eaten by a shark or something. There’s something in Zolf’s chest that hooks into him and tugs, pulls him closer, makes him want to– he doesn’t know what. It doesn’t matter — he’s not going to. Zolf sits back down, glowering. 

Hamid doesn’t get closer. Smart. (Awful, because Zolf needs to check him, needs to make sure nothing hurt him, needs to keep him safe — Zolf sits on his hands and smothers those spell-induced thoughts.) Hamid fidgets with his claws as he mumbles, “I think I made the song too powerful.”

Zolf doesn’t think he likes how that sounds. 

He asks, “Too powerful how?” Hamid doesn’t stop fidgeting. He doesn’t look up at Zolf, as though his claws are the single most fascinating thing in the cavern.

Stumbling and unsure, he says, “I think — I’m not sure, songs have always just sort of been there for me, I don’t have to think about their components and effects as much as everyone else — but I think I may have _accidentally,”_ he pauses, and looks up from his hands, “linked you to me?” 

Zolf does _not_ like how that sounds.


	2. lulls the mariners too close

Mornings are difficult. Especially mornings-after, where Wilde has to delicately pick himself out of someone’s arms and leave without waking him. But he manages, like he always does, and slips out into the morning air only looking a little bit ruffled. He straightens his waistcoat, rolls up his sleeves, and starts making his way back to the hotel he’d initially been staying in. Halfway across town. Great. Well, he certainly doesn’t regret the previous night, even if it does make him late to the boat he’d purchased passage on. Wilde is still mostly packed, and it shouldn’t be too much trouble to charm his way onto a different one if worst comes to worst. 

The bed he woke up in was comfortable. Those few hours might actually have been the best sleep he’s gotten in weeks. Well, that’s only depressing if he thinks about it, so he decides he won’t. It’s fine. Wilde will manage; he has so far. The paper he’s writing for has made it perfectly clear that he doesn’t have a stable place with them, so he needs to keep up his articles, so he needs to work late nights and early mornings, so he doesn’t have much time for sleep. It makes reality a bit blurry around the edges sometimes, but Wilde will manage.

He has so far.

When he gets to the docks, he can just see the _Electra_ sailing off. He could call after it, but honestly, he got the feeling that the captain didn’t like him that much anyway. Lovely woman, _Electra_ ’s captain. She threatened to shoot him. She didn’t, to be fair, and accepted his payment easily enough, but Wilde doesn’t care enough to tempt fate. Or Captain Earhart.

Wilde sighs and sits down on his suitcase. A shipyard is probably a decent place to find passage, right?

It takes a while, but eventually a small ship docks and begins unloading. “So, are we just gonna pick your new friend up here?” Wilde shouldn’t eavesdrop, but he really can’t help it. The young woman who spoke is rather loud. He turns (just slightly) to get a better look.

The woman is sitting on a large wooden crate, tossing something up into the air and catching it again. She isn’t actually looking at it, though, more focused on the man in front of her. He’s short, with a braided beard and a metal leg. He argues, “He’s not my friend. I’m just stuck with him.” It’s none of Wilde’s business, really, but he’s curious. The man pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance and says, “Just– sell what we’ve got, get the supplies, and _don’t tell Grizzop about him.”_ The woman rolls her eyes. She stands up off of the crate with an absurd amount of grace, and it takes Wilde a moment to realise that whatever it was she was toying with has completely vanished. Impressive sleight of hand, if he does say so himself.

She calls onto the ship, “Oi! Grizzop! Captain’s kicking us out again!” The captain scoffs. A young man — Grizzop, presumably — scrambles down from the ship’s rigging. He dashes along the gangplank and slides to a halt at the base of the crate. He gives the captain a quick salute, grinning so widely it splits his dark face in half, before turning to look up at the woman.

She’s standing on the dock next to him in an instant, and Wilde needs to suppress a laugh as he realises that so far, every member of this ship’s crew is _tiny._ The woman is the tallest out of the three of them, and she’s so thin that a stiff breeze could probably send her flying. As they begin into the city, Grizzop asks, “Are we going to proper merchants first, or are we going to talk to your kind of people?” Wilde’s eyebrows climb despite himself. _Her kind of people?_ He takes a closer look at her — or, he tries to. She defies description, any attempts at noticing what the sailor could have meant by ‘her kind’ deflected by the way she holds herself, and by the way she’s gone in half an instant with Grizzop’s arm in her own.

Huh.

The captain stays where he is, directing his crew through unloading. Wilde watches them. He thinks, of all the ships he’s seen, they would be the ones most likely to help him, but he’s not going to risk asking just yet. The day moves on, but Wilde has until next week to find a ride out to sea, so he just sits on his suitcase and waits for an opportunity to hire them.

Opportunity strikes in the form of a rather large woman noticing his observation and coming over to confront him. “Excuse me,” she says in a soft voice, “can I help you?” 

Wilde blinks up at her. And then he plasters on his most charming smile, unfolding himself from his sitting position to more easily shake her hand. “Yes, yes I believe you can. Oscar Wilde, a pleasure.” 

“Azu. How can I help you?” 

“Well, Miss Azu, I’m looking to write an article on something no one else ever will, and I need a ship to do so.”

“Why do you need a ship?”

Wilde grins. 

“I’m looking to interview a siren.”


	3. sparkling like sea-glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> consistent timeline? who's she?

To her credit, Sasha doesn’t immediately try and stab the siren that Zolf brings back. She slides down the mast and hisses, “Zolf, what the _hell?”_ Hamid, tail coiled on his side of the dinghy, smiles awkwardly and waves. The webbing between his fingers is barely noticeable. Zolf motions for Sasha to help him out of the boat, and she grabs his hand and pulls, keeping a wary eye on the siren throughout the process of getting Zolf back onto the boat. She points at Hamid and says, “You do know that’s a mermaid, right? Like, one of the things that you’re _definitely_ not supposed to bring anywhere near ships?” Zolf nods. Sasha gestures vaguely with frustration.

Hamid pipes up, “I’m not a mermaid, actually! I’m a siren.” 

Sasha sticks a finger into the ear that she can still hear out of. Hamid pouts. Zolf says, “Hamid, this is Sasha, you’re not allowed to eat her. Sasha, this is Hamid, and unless you want to deal with magic-induced _feelings,_ we’re going to have to keep him with us. I’m going to go get my old wheelchair. Don’t kill each other.” Sasha looks about to say several things, but Zolf has already started off to his quarters.

The wheelchair isn’t something he’s had to use much, but it’s still folded up in his closet. It’s specially built with wheels that stick, so Hamid won’t end up flying overboard in any storms. Zolf grabs a blanket to wrap the siren’s tail in and drags it back up on deck.

Sasha has a knife to Hamid’s throat. Some part in the back of Zolf’s head snaps, tells him to _protect_ and to _get Sasha away,_ but he ignores it. It’s just the song that Hamid screwed up messing with his head. His voice is still probably a little more fierce, a little more involved than he’d like when he scolds, “Sasha, I told you not to kill him.” Hamid’s eyes flick to him, wide with panic, and it’s a conscious effort not to run across the deck and pull Sasha away. His pace speeds up a bit despite himself.

Sasha doesn’t turn around, keeping her knife right where it is. “Yeah, well, sometimes you say dumb things.” Zolf groans. He unfolds the wheelchair and then steps toward her. She turns, slightly, just enough that he can see her cock an eyebrow. “You can’t be serious,” she says.

“Dead serious. Can you move him into the chair?” She tucks the dagger back into her sleeve. Hamid sighs in relief. Sasha isn’t terribly strong, and she’s also not anywhere near enthusiastic, so Zolf has to help her. Hamid apologises (for what exactly, Zolf has no idea) the whole way from the dinghy to the chair. He has to curl himself up in order to fit without his fins spilling out from under the edges of the blanket, but he does so without complaining. Which is a minor miracle, considering how much whining he did on the trip back here. 

As they’re walking toward Zolf’s cabin, Sasha bangs on a crew member’s door. (Erika, he thinks.) “Oi,” she calls, “get up! S’your watch.” Annoyed shuffling noises come from inside, and Zolf hurries to continue pushing Hamid down the hall.

Sasha doesn’t ask until they’ve left Hamid in Zolf’s quarters and sat down in hers. “Do you wanna, like, explain? Why you brought a siren back? Maybe?” She’s using the tone that means she’s both genuinely confused and also a little concerned about Zolf’s mental health. It’s a tone he hears quite a lot of.

Zolf sighs and scrubs at his face. “D’you remember what I was like when I lost my leg?” Sasha nods. There’s that look on her face that says something like, _this had better be related somehow._ “How about what you were like when Grizzop took away your best dagger?” She nods again, looking significantly more heartbroken. Zolf interlocks his fingers. “Imagine all of those emotions — and all of the general angst-ing that came with those emotions — mushed together.” Sasha’s face wrinkles up in distaste. “Yeah, exactly. That’s what happens if he gets too far away from me. The song screwed up my brain, so now I can’t be separated from him or else I’ll be a rubbish, overemotional mess of a captain.”

“You’re already a rubbish, overemotional mess of a captain.” 

Zolf glares at her. _“Thanks.”_ Sasha shrugs. She’s not great with serious discussions, but he trusts her. He likes her. And that’s rare, especially when she comes from a family like the Racketts and he’s a paranoid, world-weary sailor. “But seriously. Unless you want to deal with me being a wreck, you can’t kill him.” Sasha clicks her tongue in disappointment. The song makes his fists clench, makes him want to snarl at her that _Hamid is under his protection,_ makes him want to scold her for being so damn eager to kill someone that doesn’t deserve it. But Zolf’s got more than enough undeserving blood on his hands, and those in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.

He sticks out a hand. It’s an old routine of theirs, picked up when Sasha was just a street urchin looking for an out, and Zolf was just a holy man trying to spread the good word. _Promise?_ Sasha spits in her hand (she picked that up from Grizzop, and Zolf really wishes she hadn’t) and shakes it once. _Promise._ Zolf tries not to grimace too openly. She lets go, and they both wipe their palms dry. “We’re not telling the crew, are we? Like, I’m not gonna hurt him because you’re the captain and you said so, but, I mean. The rest of ‘em might not be as okay with a siren on the ship. Not that _I’m_ okay with it; I’m just okay with _you.”_ It’s one of the nicer things that Sasha has said to him. She’s only nice out loud when she’s anxious.

Zolf shakes his head. “No. Grizzop would shoot him in half a second, and gods know Tiyula wouldn’t put up with a siren on her boat.”

Sasha snorts. “Well, s’not her boat, is it?” There’s a slightly smug grin on her face, and Zolf sighs. 

“Sasha.”

She groans, all gleeful self-satisfaction gone, and agrees, “Yeah, yeah. Alright. I won’t tell,” in the most reluctant voice possible.

Zolf smiles gratefully. If she were anyone else, he’d clap her on the shoulder awkwardly and go back to his quarters. Instead, he nods and says, “Night. And, uh. Thank you. For. Y’know. Everything.” 

She shrugs. “S’alright,” she deflects. And that’s as close to a heart-to-heart as either of them wants to get, so Zolf goes back to his cabin without another word.

Hamid is lying on the floor, looking huffy. Zolf raises an eyebrow. “Need any help?” Hamid frowns up at him, and Zolf can see that there are definitely tiny almost-scales on his face and shoulders that reflect the candlelight. Those’ll be fun to hide. Hamid doesn’t answer, just pushes himself up to a sitting position and continues looking indignant. 

Zolf is just about to blow out the candle on his desk and go to bed when Hamid asks, “Where am I going to sleep?” Zolf sets the candle down and opens the door to the attached bathroom.

He points and says, “There’s a bathtub in there. Have fun.” Hamid scowls. He does that a lot. It’s not cute at all, and it doesn’t make Zolf want to kiss him until he stops being angry. 

Stupid siren.   
Stupid song.  
(Stupid captain.)

Hamid crosses his arms in irritation. “I’m not sleeping in a bathtub.”

Zolf blows out the candle. “The floor, then.” Hamid scoffs, over-the-top offended. Everything about him is over the top. He’s not even a normal mythical being, he’s a shining one with scales scattered all over him to add to the way he seems to glow in low light. The only thing Zolf knew about sirens was to stay away from them, but he’s quickly learning other things. He’s learning that this one, at least, has small, metallic slits along his ribs. He’s learning that this one, at least, has a high voice and a song that can spiral out of control. He’s learning that this one, at least, is even more beautiful than the stories say.

Zolf is jerked out of his thoughts by Hamid announcing, “I’m not sleeping on the floor!” Right. Right, yeah, he’s also learning that this one, at least, is obnoxious as all hell.

Zolf snaps, “Alright, I guess you’re not sleeping!” Hamid’s face pinches up, and he angrily gestures at Zolf’s bunk. He opens his mouth to bite out something, but Zolf cuts across him with, “There’s no way I’m letting you in my bed.” Hamid throws his hands up.

He demands, “Why not?”

Zolf is honestly too taken aback to answer quickly. _Why not._ Gods above and below, he’s going to have to deal with this from now on. Because he doesn’t want to wake up with a bite-sized chunk missing from his chest, that’s _why not._ He stammers, “Why– because I don’t like you! And I don’t trust you! And I don’t want my bed to smell like saltwater in the morning!”

“It’s a ship! In the middle of the ocean! Everything smells like saltwater!” Gods — of course, of all the points to argue, he chooses that one.

Zolf says, “Uh, no, my _bed_ doesn’t, and I intend to keep it that way, thanks.” He’s being rude. He doesn’t like being this rude to Hamid, even though the siren absolutely deserves it. Stupid song.

Hamid is silent for a moment. Zolf, thinking he’s won, takes off his soaked-through boot. And then, because he’s _awful,_ Hamid points out, “Your clothes are still wet. If you sleep in saltwater-y clothes, then–”

“Well, I can’t exactly _change,_ can I?”

Another pause. “Why not?”

_Why not._ He keeps asking that. Zolf is beginning to hate it. Because Zolf isn’t going to change in front of the flesh-eating fish-person who he’s stuck sharing a room with for the rest of his godsdamn life, that’s _why not._ He can hear his voice slowly getting higher and higher due to a vague sense of humiliation as he stumbles over the words. “Because I’m not going to– I don’t– _for gods’ sake, just go sleep in the tub!”_ He gestures toward the bathroom to emphasise his point.

Hamid scowls some more before his expression turns into something tinged with embarrassment and he mumbles, “I can’t get back into the chair.” Zolf gives him an incredulous look before sighing and turning around. He’s not dealing with that.

“You’re the worst. Did you know that? You are, objectively, the worst.”  
“You’re making me sleep in a bathtub! How am _I_ the worst?”  
“It’s your fault that I can’t be more than six feet away from you without spiralling, that’s how!”

Hamid snarls, “Well, I’m _sorry,_ okay? I didn’t mean to, and I’m just as stuck as you are, and I _know_ it’s my fault! But all I can think about is how this means I’m probably never going to get to see my family again, or my friends! And the worst part is, I’m linked to someone who won’t even share—” his voice hitches. He doesn’t start talking again. And Zolf can’t see his face, but he knows for a fact that Hamid is crying. Or, whatever it is merpeople do instead of crying. And it _hurts,_ tugging at Zolf’s chest and tearing him in two. Because it’s his fault, he made Hamid _cry,_ how could he be so heartless? So cruel? 

It’s just the song, but the awful rending in his chest doesn’t go away just because it’s been artificially placed there. Zolf turns back around, kneels, and pulls his siren into an awkward hug. He makes an effort not to crush Hamid’s tail, or sit in a position that will make his own legs cramp. Hamid leans in, burying his face in Zolf’s shoulder. 

Very quietly, Zolf says, “I still don’t like you. And I don’t trust you. And if I could get rid of you and the feelings you forced into my head, I would. And I—” he sighs in defeat, his voice turning softer— “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” Hamid sniffles. 

Zolf doesn’t apologise, despite every fibre of his being screaming at him to. It’s an artificial feeling, this sorrow, so he doesn’t acknowledge it.


	4. like bleached bones on the coast

Sleeping is difficult. It’s always difficult, because Wilde’s thoughts race from topic to topic, story to story, word to sentence to phrase to paragraph to page and that is nowhere near conducive to sleep. He doesn’t have nightmares, just vaguely uneasy dreams. He didn’t send that letter to the right address, or he missed a deadline. Things like that.

It means that when he wakes up, still in a creaky ship that’s swaying dangerously, he doesn’t feel very well rested. A quick glance out the porthole confirms that it’s still dark outside. Wilde sighs. He decides he’ll pace around a bit, see if this nauseous feeling in his throat goes away with the salt air.

The world feels blurry around him as he steps out of his cabin and starts up the ramp. There aren’t many stairs on the _Ranger._ Wilde wonders if it’s because of the captain’s peg leg or because of the captain’s wheelchair-bound boyfriend. It’s none of Wilde’s business, as he is so frequently reminded, and it’s not doing anything to help with his nausea. The ship sways and Wilde sways with it, each lurching step feeling like more and more of a challenge. But he needs to get above deck. He _needs_ it, like a starving man needs food, like a drowning man needs air. 

He stumbles into a mast. There’s no one else on deck. Wilde decides, apropos of nothing, that he’s dreaming. He must be. Everything feels wrong and woozy and wobbling around him, he can’t quite remember the journey out of his cabin to the deck, the world’s edges dissolve like an uncoated pill if he doesn’t look at them. He keeps walking forward and hears… hissing? Lyrical hissing. 

Something like a song.  
Something like a scream.  
(Something beautiful. Wilde needs to be closer.)

He staggers around some obstacle (is it a mast? a barrel, maybe?) and sees Hamid. Interesting. Of everyone Wilde would expect to appear in a vaguely nightmarish scenario, Hamid was very far down the list. Still _on_ the list, of course. He’s gorgeous. But in an odd sort of way, where you can’t help but feel your eyes drawn back to him despite yourself. It’s led to the captain glowering at him more than once. 

Hamid is leant over the railing, hissing something. Wilde wonders if the dream is what makes his words turn garbled, or if he’s just too delirious to comprehend them. 

Something sings back. Something from overboard, in the most beautiful voice Wilde has ever heard, responds. Wilde feels that voice wrap around him, like gauze, like muslin, like warm silk, and he sways closer. He needs to be _closer._

Hamid notices him, and his face turns frantic. Odd. Are they both having nightmares? But no, this isn’t a nightmare, how could that song ever come from a nightmare? Wilde leans over the railing to see its source, despite Hamid tugging ineffectually at his sleeve. 

The man below firmly cements this as a dream. He’s gorgeous, and it actually takes Wilde a moment to look past his face (and his chest, good lord, Wilde could spend hours looking at his chest) to notice the shining gold tail fanning lazily in the water. “Hello,” he says. Is that his voice? He sounds breathless. Wilde hopes he doesn’t look as feverish as he feels. The siren (Wilde has been worrying about whether or not he’ll actually find a siren for the past week, of course, one would make an appearance in his dream) beams up at him. 

Hamid hisses something else. The siren below ignores it and says, “Hello! You must be Mr Wilde; Hamid has told me a lot about you. He never did mention your—” Hamid grabs him by the shoulder and turns him, and Wilde notices for the first time his slitted pupils— “now, Hamid, don’t be jealous because I’ve finally got a shot! You’ve charmed two sailors, you ought to let me have this one!” The siren’s voice is heavy, and it thunders in a way that Wilde isn’t familiar with at all.

Hamid snaps over the railing, “He’s not a sailor, he’s a merchant who wants to investigate a siren for some paper.”

“I wouldn’t mind if he investigated me one bit.”

“That’s not– just, give me a moment.” Hamid turns back to him, a pleasant smile on his face. “Are you tired, Oscar?” His voice has a hum to it that resonates in Wilde’s ears, echoing around and around, becoming multitude and many-pitched. “Wouldn’t you like to go to bed? You’re already halfway there. Isn’t this such a strange dream?” Wilde nods, dazedly. Hamid smiles, and he _really is_ very attractive. Wilde doesn’t manage to say this out loud. The hum in his ears has taken him back to his cabin, and he supposes there’s nothing to do except sleep within his dream.

The siren’s low voice rolls over him in haunting notes. Wilde doesn’t want the dream to end. He wants to hear those notes forever. Except, he’s tired. Except, he’d like to go to bed. Except, this is such a strange dream.

Wilde falls asleep. It’s what the hum in his ears said he should do.


	5. a voice like gilded honey

Hamid frowns at one of the shirts Sasha bought for him. Zolf can see him doing so over the novel he’s reading, but he doesn’t comment until Hamid turns to him with a pleading expression on his face. “Yes, you have to wear a shirt if you go above decks.” It’s an argument they’ve been having all morning. Hamid sighs and sinks back into his tub, tail flicking in annoyance and sending water droplets into Zolf’s face. Hamid, who has seen a total of ten shirts in his life, thinks that Sasha’s taste in shirts is bad.

Hamid’s right, but fashion doesn’t really matter to anyone on board except him, and he’s a fish. 

So. 

He whines, “But it doesn’t look good!” Zolf raises an eyebrow at him before looking pointedly at the scales and gills visible on Hamid’s torso. Hamid sinks lower, and his tail has to bend so he doesn’t spill over the side. “Those look perfectly fine, thank you,” he mumbles, pouting like a petulant child. 

(And he’s right about that, too. They look perfect, just like the rest of him does.)

Zolf looks back to his novel. He’s just going to sit on the sink and read until Hamid’s ready to be a functioning member of society or until the song stops making him sappy and ridiculous. Whichever comes first. 

The main door thuds against its frame and Zolf stands up to answer it, closing the bathroom door behind him. Hamid curls up, hiding at the bottom of the tub. Sasha’s stood in the doorway with two plates of breakfast. She doesn’t wait for Zolf to invite her in, pushing past him and setting one plate on his nightstand. “Where’s Hamid?” she asks, holding the other plate slightly higher. Zolf opens the bathroom door for her. 

Hamid perks up at the sight of food. “Is that for me?” Sasha hands it to him uneasily, and he smiles as she does so. “Thank you, Sasha.” She shrugs, clearly uncomfortable. She gets more uncomfortable when Hamid takes a bite of the beef with teeth far sharper than they were a moment ago.

She keeps her hands decidedly out of reach. “How’d you do that?”

Hamid blinks up at her. He swallows before asking, “Do what?” Sasha gestures vaguely at him, hands still tight to her chest.

“With the teeth!”  
“...do humans not have second teeth?”

Sasha scratches the back of her neck. “I mean, we have baby teeth, but those fall out and get replaced. That’s not what you did.” Hamid pulls his bottom lip down, and Zolf notices the odd way his gums fold just as a second set of sharper teeth emerge from between the overlaps. Sasha gasps. “Oh, that is _so cool!_ I’d love to have teeth like that!” She turns to Zolf and declares, “He’s alright, Zolf!” Zolf glares at her. She continues beaming, her burn scar crinkling up like it only does when she’s really excited.

Zolf sits back down on the sink. “Glad you two are getting on,” he deadpans.


	6. cries to sailors who can't dream

When Wilde sits down to breakfast the next day, he looks a little too closely at Hamid. The other man notices, looking up quizzically. His pupils are round, and his eyes are a warm, decidedly human shade of brown. “Something on your mind, Oscar?” Hamid asks, and there’s no hum to his voice. It doesn’t sound anything like a hiss. Like a song. Like a scream.

Not that Wilde was really expecting it to, but the confirmation is still nice. Wilde leers at him. “I was just comparing you to the dream I had last night.” It’s not a lie. Hamid’s expression goes from mild interest to frigid politeness. Something at the edge of his jaw shimmers as he sets it, and Wilde briefly wonders if he has a slight scar there. Wilde doesn’t miss the way the captain white-knuckles his silverware, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, either. 

Grizzop cuts in, “Do you have to do this at the table?” Wilde smirks at him. Grizzop scowls back, reaching for some bacon. “Some of us are trying to eat,” he grumbles. Wilde shrugs. The world still sways with the ship, and there’s something like emptiness filling the gaps in his bones, but it’s okay. Most likely just the remnants of that not-quite-nightmare. He wishes he remembered the siren’s song properly.

It was so beautiful.


	7. it drowns out their loneliness

“I’m just saying, the bed is big enough for both of us.”  
“Well, the tub is big enough for you.”  
“Hmph.”


	8. it drowns out their screams

The song is back. Wilde needs to be closer, but he’s so tired. He can’t even move. Like sleep paralysis, almost, except far nicer. Wilde closes his eyes and lets the notes wash over him as he drifts in and out of consciousness. He’ll have to write about it later.


	9. fins of purest gold alight

It’s surprisingly difficult to be silent when experiencing phantom limb pain. Zolf’s always managed to be quiet, seeing as nobody’s ever checked in on him, but that’s probably aided by the fact that the walls of the ship probably muffle most noise. Apparently, the door between him and Hamid isn’t nearly as soundproof as he’d like. “Zolf? Are you alright?” Hamid asks hesitantly, and he sounds so genuinely worried. 

Zolf has to deal with this fairly frequently, you’d think he’d have built up some sort of tolerance by now. He grunts, “Fine,” and prays that Hamid leaves well enough alone.

He ought to know better, after two weeks of dealing with him. “You don’t sound fine.” He isn’t accusatory, just concerned. The link hums in his ears, and Hamid’s voice makes his heart turn soft. Zolf doesn’t say anything, though, just bites his tongue hard and wills Hamid to go back to sleep. The siren doesn’t. Instead, he quietly offers, “I… I know a lullaby?” 

Zolf would laugh if he weren’t still in so much pain. He grits out, “Won’t help.” He can’t ever sleep through these episodes, and gods know he’s tried. The space where his calf would be has a sudden intense flash of pain, and Zolf can’t do anything about the hiss that escapes him.

“...you’re hurt.” It’s an observation. A realisation. Zolf hates it, hates that he’s so transparent about this. He’s been through this a million times, but he still needs to bite back his own stupid tears. It’s embarrassing.

Zolf shakes his head, even though Hamid can’t see him through the closed door. His fingers dig into his thigh as he says, “It’s fine. S’all in my head. I just need to get through it.” Hamid goes silent, and Zolf can deal with the damn phantom pain for a few more minutes without disturbing the siren. He’ll be fine.

And then Hamid whispers, “Listen.”  
And then Hamid sings. 

It’s terrifying for half a second, sending Zolf into a panic because he doesn’t want to be charmed again. But the song isn’t the same; Hamid’s voice is softer, lower, and it glows in a way that Zolf doesn’t know how to describe. The only thing tying it to the song Zolf first heard is the way the notes seem to shake in the air, splitting in two and looping back on themselves. His siren’s voice reverberates around the room, reflecting off the tiles and adding something impossible to the already unimaginable melody.

Zolf is so focused on the differences in the songs that he doesn’t notice the pain’s absence until Hamid pauses for breath. The song has ended, Zolf realises, ended a while ago, and Hamid is just singing it over again to make sure that Zolf’s better. 

Which. 

The way his insides turn over might not be the link. 

Zolf interrupts the melody, as pretty as it is, “Hamid?”

Hamid stops singing. He doesn’t actually answer for a moment, and Zolf can hear the water sloshing a bit, presumably as Hamid fidgets with his tail. “Yes?” He sounds worried, shaky and unsure. Probably because he doesn’t know how Zolf is feeling about the song. 

“Thanks,” Zolf says, tone as neutral and uncaring as he can make it. He doesn’t want Hamid to think that he can just sing whenever he feels like it. That’s a good way to get eaten. And yes, Zolf is sharing a room with a siren, so he’s already in danger of getting eaten, but he doesn’t want to encourage that path any more than the link in his head already does.

Hamid laughs a little in relief, and it’s not adorable at all. “Of course.” Zolf can hear the soft smile on his siren’s face, and he has to make an effort not to smile back.

Zolf rolls over and stretches out some. He’s never said it before, barely even thought about it, but. After a long moment of quiet, he mumbles, “...good night.”

And the smile is still on Hamid’s face when he says, “Good night, Zolf.”


	10. and cover up the sea

As it turns out, more than half the crew doesn’t believe that sirens exist. Which makes Wilde take a bit more joy in talking about them, especially at mealtimes, when no one can get away. He has to deal with seasickness, so they’ll have to deal with lengthy enthusiasm about sirens. It’s only fair.

“Come on,” he needles, “have none of you ever seen a siren?” Breakfast is mandatory, (unless you’re the captain or his boyfriend, but they still _usually_ show up) so Wilde usually bothers everyone then. He once heard Grizzop complaining that he was going to start putting wax in his ears beforehand. Which would just give Wilde more fuel, of course, so Wilde almost hopes he does.

Sasha doesn’t look up from her plate as she says, “I mean, _I_ have.” Half the table freezes and stares at her incredulously. Only the half that doesn’t believe in them, though. Interesting. Has she never told them this before?

Wilde leans forward. He reaches out and steals a bit of her sausage. Or, he tries to, but her knife pins it back down to her plate rather quickly. When she looks up at him to snap something, he asks, “What did she look like?” Sasha stares at him blankly. “Your siren. What did she look like?” Sasha’s face goes from blank to guilty, and she shrugs.

A crew member that Wilde thinks is named Erika says, “The girl’s half-deaf, Wilde. She didn’t hear any siren.” Ah. Right, that was one of the first things Wilde learned about her. The scarring up the side of her face just reaches the bottom of her left ear, so apparently, she can only kind of hear out of her right. So much for talking with someone else about the siren song. Not that he and Sasha _talk,_ exactly, more that they exchange puns back and forth until one of them folds and starts laughing or groaning in dismay.

“It was Zolf’s siren, not mine,” Sasha defends, and then immediately looks very apologetic. Wilde turns to look at the captain and finds him glaring at Sasha. Hamid, next to him, is very intently focused on his breakfast and very pointedly ignoring Zolf. (Wilde supposes your lover diving overboard might not exactly inspire warm and fuzzy feelings toward the creatures that made him do so.) Wilde is about to ask, but Sasha says, “Sorry. Wasn’t trying to _egg_ him on.”

Wilde grins. “It’s perfectly alright, you were just trying to bacon-structive.” 

“This is awful, and I don’t want to hear it,” announces Grizzop.

“Waffle,” mumbles Sasha.

“What?”  
“It’s _waffle,_ and you don’t wanna hear it.”  
“…can I throw her overboard?”


	11. tongues of purest silver call

It’s a routine they’ve set up over the past weeks. 

It’s routine, Hamid closing the door behind him before shuffling the blanket off of his lap. It’s routine, Zolf reaching over him to lock it. It’s routine, Zolf brushing his teeth and changing in the bathroom while Hamid tears into whatever bit of meat Sasha’s managed to sneak to him under the table over dinner. It’s routine, Zolf opening the bathroom door and both of them going to bed in separate rooms.

It’s very much _not_ routine when Zolf says, “It’s annoying, drawing all these baths for you. My bunk could probably fit both of us.” And it’s a stupid pretence, but Hamid still tries to smother the spark that lights in his eyes at that.

Hamid’s voice is the smallest bit happier when he shrugs and says, “I suppose.” It’s a stupid pretence. Like Hamid wasn’t asking to sleep in the same bed for the first half week he came on board. Like Zolf has ever mentioned caring about filling up the tub. Zolf doesn’t have to help his siren into the bed, which is good, because he’s reasonably sure that would make him combust from embarrassment. Zolf folds up the chair and shoves it into the corner before blowing out the candle and getting in next to Hamid.

And it’s fine. It’s absolutely fine. The part of him that wants to throw an arm over Hamid and pull the siren flush against his chest is just stupid and influenced by the song. Hamid shifts next to him and the end of his tail drapes over Zolf’s ankle. Because the tail is so damn unwieldy, and because it’s in Hamid’s nature to try and bring Zolf closer. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t make Zolf’s pulse speed up. “Night, Hamid.”

There’s warm breath on his collarbone when Hamid answers, “Good night.” And it’s suddenly _decidedly_ not fine, but there’s nothing Zolf can do now. If he doesn’t wake up and Sasha finds him with a chunk bitten out of his throat, then that’s what happens. He’s already gotten this far with his dumb plan. Why stop now?


	12. and they will ruin thee

Hamid isn’t on deck today. It’s a bit annoying, Wilde was going to pester him into asking the captain about why they’re so close to shore. Wilde _would_ do it himself, but he can’t find the captain, either. He’d chalk it up to them needing some time alone, but neither Azu nor Grizzop are anywhere to be seen, either. He ends up finding Sasha. “Where is everyone?” She doesn’t turn around, still staring out at the waves. Ah, yes, half-deaf. He taps her on the shoulder, and he doesn’t flinch when she spins around and holds a dagger up to his throat. Wilde raises an eyebrow along with his hands.

Sasha sighs when she realises it’s him. Sighs in _disappointment._ He’s hurt. “What, Wilde?”

“The rest of your merry band. Where are they? I assume Zolf and Hamid are just _busy,_ but what about the clergy?” Sasha’s face does something interesting. She always seems to relive memories like this, but usually, Wilde can’t quite make out the individual components as clearly as he can this time. Confusion, annoyance, concern, distress, exasperation. Wilde wonders what could have happened to elicit that particular sequence.

Sasha stammers, “They’re just. Y’know. They’re, like, gossiping somewhere. Or something. I dunno.” Wilde raises the other eyebrow. The sailor shrugs and the dagger disappears somewhere about her person. Wilde could be wrong, but he’s beginning to think that Sasha is a terrible liar. This belief is cemented further when she hooks a thumb over her shoulder and says, “I gotta, uh, go. Do. Something. Somewhere. That’s not here. Yeah. Cheers.” Wilde watches as she hurries across the deck. He huffs and goes back to his cabin.

He runs into a crew member he thinks is named Gabriel, just outside of the captain’s quarters. Wilde squints and points curiously. Gabriel shakes his head and whispers, “They left it open a crack; thought I’d do everyone a public service by closing and locking it.” Wilde rolls his eyes.

“Of course, they left it open. Thank you, I suppose. How are you going to lock it?” 

Gabriel smiles and holds up a small brass key. “Tiyula made us extras. We used to take turns making sure he was awake, but then Sasha decided it was her job because she knows how to lockpick.” 

(Gabriel is very nice.  
Very pretty, too, and with an adorable Spanish accent.  
Shame all Wilde can think about is that merman from his dream.)

Wilde leans in slightly and asks, “Have you ever walked in on something?”

Gabriel fakes a gag. _“Gods,_ yeah. I think about half the crew’s seen more of Hamid than they needed to, myself included.” Wilde stifles a laugh. He waves to the crew member and continues to his own cabin. He’s very tired, and he doesn’t really want to stay above deck and worry about if they’re going to dock again so quickly. He’ll just buy another passage if that’s what it comes to.


	13. beware a siren’s crooning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fair warning, this one is a Bit... hm. vaguely spicy with dubcon undertones (apparently the only way to get the idiots to kiss is with siren magic) so if that's the sort of thing you don't want to read, skip to _"The sunlight from underneath the door"_ if you want some plot but no ick

Zolf wakes up to warm breath on his neck and ringing in his ears. “I’m hungry,” Hamid mumbles into the crook of his neck, and Zolf would laugh if he weren’t so distracted. The song has been quiet, only echoing once in a while, but it’s _loud_ now. Zolf wonders if Hamid can feel his pulse speeding up, can feel his heart skipping beats, can feel his breath stutter. Zolf can’t see his siren, but he supposes it doesn’t matter. He knows that Hamid looks beautiful, looks iridescent and unearthly in his glamour. He always does.

That’s not– Zolf can’t do this right now. He has things to take care of; they’re docking today and finally getting rid of Wilde, he doesn’t have time to be charmed by a siren. He manages to stammer out, “If you get off of me, we can go get breakfast.” Hamid whines, burrowing in, and his lips _burn_ where they brush against Zolf.

And Hamid hasn’t been any closer to the sea than anyone else on board, but he smells like sea foam and like salt air and like heat. Zolf swears he can feel the siren on his skin like a brand. His siren’s voice crests and falls like a melody as he answers, “But I don’t want to.” He shifts, presses somehow closer, and his mouth is hot and wet where it seals over Zolf’s pulse. 

Zolf should push him away. Zolf should be angry. Zolf doesn’t know if it’s the song or his own lonely heart that makes his lungs freeze, makes his hands scramble up to twist through his siren’s hair. “Hamid, I have things to do. You need to get off.” His voice is surprisingly steady. Zolf doesn’t quite manage to start breathing again, though. 

Hamid bites him. 

With blunt teeth, thank gods, but the song warps it and instead of being _justly worried,_ Zolf just feels. More. More like he needs to be closer to his siren and his song. _“Hamid,”_ Zolf says again, but it comes out far less like an admonishment and far more like a plea.

“You taste good,” his siren murmurs. That’s a red flag, that is _such_ a red flag, but Zolf can only swallow hard. Hamid hums as he pushes himself up, and it’s a half-song that Zolf would do anything to hear him sing properly. His voice is so beautiful. Zolf can see too-sharp teeth when his siren asks, “Can I kiss you, please?” There are so many red flags about this, dark red flags that probably got that way due to bloodshed. Zolf would have to be oblivious, stupid, or suicidal to ignore them.

So of course, the first thing that he manages to get out is a resounding, _“Yes.”_ Hamid smiles. A soft thumb rests on Zolf’s jaw, and then the siren kisses him.

Zolf doesn’t even mind when his siren accidentally draws blood. He’s not _thrilled,_ obviously, but it’s nowhere near as concerning as it ought to be. For him, at least. A moment after the initial slashing pain, Hamid breaks away from Zolf. He doesn’t let Zolf draw him back down, despite any and all reasonable protests. “Are you– did I _bite_ you?” Zolf tries to pull him in with the hand still tangled in his hair. Hamid doesn’t let himself be pulled. “Oh, dear, I didn’t mean to– Zolf, I’m sorry—”

Zolf tries to tug him back down into another kiss. “S’fine, you didn’t mean it, Hamid, _please.”_ His siren’s face turns from apologetic to something like heartbreak, and Zolf doesn’t know what he said. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean to make his siren look so miserable, but he doesn’t know how to take it back. The song plays loud in his ears, and the only thing he knows how to want is Hamid.

Zolf can feel blood welling up on his lip, but any pain doesn’t register. Hamid draws back further, and Zolf tries to follow, but the look on his siren’s face stops him dead. “I’m sorry,” Hamid says again, “I’m just hungry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He carefully places his thumb against the cut, as if to stop the bleeding. That’s sweet of him. Zolf doesn’t even mind it, not really. Hamid’s so pretty; the sunlight from underneath the door gives him sort of a halo.

The sunlight from underneath the door. The sunlight– that’s not good. Nothing is _really_ registering except the siren still mostly on top of him, but that sunlight makes him frown. 

And then it clicks. 

“Shit, Hamid, we’re docking today, I need to—”

“Yes, you mentioned,” Hamid says, apparently unconcerned about that, still carefully pressing his thumb to the cut in Zolf’s lip. And now that he’s more or less himself, _ow,_ that cut hurts. Zolf is far more focused on the clock that says he should have been up twenty minutes ago to worry about that. Hamid asks, “What exactly should I be—”

Zolf shoves at his shoulder. He doesn’t want to be rude, but getting up is _kind of urgent._ He suggests, “Getting the hell off of me, maybe?” in a voice far higher than it has any right to be.

Hamid blinks at him for a second, stunned, before shuffling over. He smiles apologetically, and Zolf realises that his teeth are still sharp, that his pupils are still slitted, that his hair is in such disarray that it doesn’t obscure his pointed ears. “Oh! Right, yes, sorry!” The blanket ends up tangling around them both so much it takes another five minutes to get untwisted from it.

So Zolf is already around thirty minutes late, with a blanket halfway across the room, a very obviously not-human man still in his bed (with Zolf’s blood staining his lips), and a peg leg only half buckled on when Grizzop shouts, “Are you awake?” Zolf jolts in surprise, and with his already fragile balance, he ends up falling over. The loud thump and noises of pain and frustration are apparently not enough of an answer, as there’s a loud hammering on the door. “You were supposed to be on deck half an hour ago!” 

Zolf damn near _saved his life,_ and _this_ is how Grizzop repays him? Being nitpicky about schedules at _Sasha,_ sure, she wasn’t much use against skeleton sailors, but _Zolf_ helped! Zolf curses at the water elemental that took his damn leg silently. He curses at Grizzop significantly less silently. Grizzop huffs in exasperation, and the doorknob rattles. At least, it _should_ rattle, except it doesn’t. 

_It turns._

Which is when Sasha says, “No, Grizzop, come on, I checked in earlier, you don’t—”

Which is when Hamid squeaks, _“Sasha did you unlock the door?”_

Which is when Grizzop shouts, “Here’s your warning!” far more gleefully than he has any right to and throws open the door.

Hamid freezes, Grizzop stops being gleeful _very_ abruptly, and Sasha whispers, “I thought I re-locked it.” Zolf glares. She shrinks further into her jacket. 

Grizzop stands, completely still, in the doorway, staring at Hamid. And then he asks, “Is this why you’re always in the captain’s quarters instead of on deck?” Hamid nods silently, looking very, _very_ worried. Grizzop tilts his head, seeming to consider this. He shrugs. “Yeah, okay. I just figured you two were having sex.” Hamid splutters, his tail flicking in embarrassment as his face goes red.

Sasha snorts. “They are.”

Zolf, who never did get his leg on properly, throws it at her.


	14. and beware your fickle heart

Wilde raises an eyebrow when he sees the captain lugging a _very_ drunk woman back to his room. She isn’t Wilde’s type, and he wouldn’t have pegged her for _Zolf’s_ type, either, but. Well. It’s not really his business, is it? And Wilde’s not exactly one to judge.

He decides he’ll take the night off, set up another passage, keep burning through his salary until he meets a siren or until he’s destitute. Whichever comes first.

He figures he might as well have a good time while he’s out and about, and sets off to find a bar.


	15. for once a siren has it

Zolf is learning so many things about sirens that he would never have needed to know if it weren’t for Hamid’s messed-up song. As it turns out, sirens can go a bit mad if they go for a month or longer without human flesh. Very interesting, that fact. Sure would have been nice if he’d been aware of it earlier. If maybe, the siren he was bringing onto his ship would have mentioned it, that probably could have been very useful. Or something.

It certainly explains Hamid’s weird behaviour this morning. “I think you helped a bit, but I’m still very hungry. And, I _am_ sorry. About the blood. I didn’t mean to bite you.” Zolf sighs. He’s sacrificed quite a few people, (only those that were worthy of being drowned) but killing someone because he needs to feed his– feed _a_ siren is different. Worse, arguably.

Hamid seems to notice his annoyance. The siren taps his claws on the arm of his wheelchair, fidgeting. He doesn’t say anything more, though, and it gives Zolf room to think. Zolf always does a small ritual before setting sail, usually a horse or maybe some asshole that harassed a member of his crew, but this is different. This isn’t a precaution, isn’t worship; this is a cold-blooded killing. And Zolf doesn’t know if he’s okay with that. Zolf doesn’t know if he can, in good conscience, _murder_ someone so that he doesn’t have to die in a situation that is almost entirely his own fault.

Hamid picks at his claws. Zolf sighs. “I’ll find someone,” he promises, and Hamid smiles nervously up at him. Apologetically. Gratefully. Zolf rolls his eyes and says, “This doesn’t mean I like you, it just means I just don’t want to get eaten. Don’t look at me like that.” Hamid looks at his hands instead, at the half-opaque webbing between his fingers. The smile doesn’t go away.

Zolf wonders how much the song is to blame for the smile of his own that he has to shove away.

He finds someone easily enough. She’s loudly ranting to the whole pub about her godsawful disappointment of a son and her even worse failure of an ex-husband. The rest of the patrons’ expressions range from nonplussed to uncomfortable to agonised. Zolf must be a bit too obvious in sizing her up (he’s pretty short, and the leg makes things difficult, but the woman’s clearly too drunk to put up a good fight and too scrawny to have any real weight) because she comes over to him.

She hisses something incoherent (something like the world’s most uncomfortable pickup line delivered with the world’s worst breath) near him, and Zolf mutters, “Yeah, I don’t think anyone’ll miss you,” to himself. It’s probably rude. But no one hears him, or at least, no one who cares does, and Zolf manages to half-carry and half-drag her back to the _Ranger._

No one is still on deck. It’s sometime after midnight, so everyone is fully enjoying their shore leave. They’re docking in this particular port for around a week, and then sailing for another two months. Zolf will figure out the whole human-flesh-once-a-month logistics later. 

The woman laughs when he lets her go in order to unlock the door to his cabin. “Captain,” she slurs, “my captain.” Zolf resists the urge to drown her himself. The fact that she’s _handsy_ is not helping, but Zolf’s always prided himself on his impulse control. (Which isn’t great, to be honest, but when he’s compared to Grizzop and Sasha he looks like a damn saint.) The door opens, and the drunk stumbles in. “Oh,” she says when she sees Hamid laid out on the bed, “h’lo, there.” Hamid sits up sluggishly, having just woken up from a nap that made him miss the motley dinner Azu had thrown together. His eyes widen when he sees the woman, pupils expanding so much his eyes go nearly black.

She lurches forward, and Hamid scrambles to a sitting position. “Zolf, do you have—”

The woman doesn’t look away from the siren, so Zolf figures that the spell’s already started. Point in favour of his ‘you-have-to-be-looking-at-him’ theory. “I filled up the bathtub while you were sleeping if you want to drown her in that. Or, y’know, I’m pretty sure there’s a bucket around her somewhere.” Hamid looks away from his meal in favour of glaring at Zolf. Zolf shrugs defensively. “They work fine!” 

Hamid scoffs and rolls his eyes. The woman practically falls into him, and he picks her back up. In a voice that Zolf can _feel,_ that reverberates in his chest like a thunderstorm, “Hey, no, not yet. Can you help me into my chair, please?” It’s a bit strange, watching siren spells work when they’re not being sung at you. The woman reaches up dully to scratch at her ear before scooping Hamid up and placing him down carefully in his wheelchair. “Thank you,” he says softly. Hamid doesn’t even tell her where to go, she just does, pushing the siren into the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind them. It’s _really_ creepy.

Zolf doesn’t watch her die. He can’t. Not in good conscience.

He pretends not to hear the godsawful ripping noises that come from behind the closed door as he continues reading. He pretends not to smell the blood, which is hard because the smell is so thick he can taste it at the back of his throat. He’s gotten good at this, though, ignoring things that are practically smacking him in the face. He does get worried when he starts feeling tired and Hamid’s still not done. Zolf knocks on the door. “Don’t come in,” Hamid squeaks. His mouth is full. There’s a wet noise, and Zolf immediately stops himself from wondering about its origin.

“I won’t; I’m going to bed. You alright in there?” More wet noises. Something that sounds like claws scraping along something porous. Probably– Zolf’s not thinking about what it is.

Hamid chews on something before swallowing. Zolf shouldn’t be able to hear this much through a closed door. “Fine. Much better, actually!” Zolf nods; he leans on the doorframe. It’s been three hours, and Zolf is exhausted, but the song still urges him closer to his siren. After a beat of silence, Hamid softly says, “Thank you for this.” It pulls Zolf back into reality.

He clears his throat. The not-quite taste of blood stays despite it. “Yeah. Night.” He unbuckles his leg and lies down in bed, blowing out the candle on his nightstand. Hamid doesn’t answer, but the ripping noises start up again.

Zolf’s bed feels too big. Too empty, without his siren wrapped around him. Too cold, without the warm breathing next to him. Zolf turns over and wills himself to sleep anyway.


	16. it shall be ripped apart

Wilde keeps having these dreams. It’s annoying. They don’t leave him well-rested, only more tired than he was before, with the last remnants of the siren’s song lingering in his ears. He manages to drag himself up on deck, this time, swaying something fierce with his head pounding. The song drowns most of that out, though. Something like a song, and something like a scream, and something Wilde would do anything for. He leans (collapses like a sleep-deprived ragdoll) over the railing. The siren is there, again. Of course, he is. It’s low tide, and there’s a small, sandy island for him to sit on. Wilde laughs, and the siren stops singing to look up. 

The previous dream didn’t do him justice. It’s a full moon tonight, and Wilde can see every detail of his handsome face. “Hello again,” Wilde calls. It’s a dream, and he doesn’t expect the siren to speak back to him.

But the siren catches him by surprise, a large grin breaking across his face. “Hello!” Wilde wonders if the siren song is just a permanent fixture in his ears, now, or if there’s some visual/auditory effect. The siren shouts, “Mr Wilde, correct? I believe we’ve met before!” There should be someone else on board. There should be someone there to stop Wilde’s feet from lifting up as he rocks forward toward the waves below. They’re docked, though; no sailors come and save him from himself. The siren does, though, suddenly frowning. “If you fell from there, you’d surely die, Mr Wilde,” he says, and he doesn’t look pleased with the prospect.

Wilde is dreaming about a siren worrying about his well being. Gods, how lonely is he?

Wilde gives the siren a lazy grin. He doesn’t bother to correct the siren that, seeing as this is a figment of his subconscious, he’d probably survive the fall just fine. “We seem to be on an uneven playing field; you know my name, but I haven’t any idea as to what yours might be.” The siren frowns at him.

“Bertrand,” he answers, “but I suppose _you_ can call me Bertie.” And then, “I say, is there any way for us to sit down somewhere? It’s rather tiring, yelling so loudly!” Wilde cocks his head and thinks about it. He closes his eyes against his headache. “Wilde?” Maybe he could go take a seat on the docks? No, someone would almost certainly see the gas lamps reflecting off of Bertie’s tail. And skin? Wilde isn’t sure if the siren’s skin is actually sparkling, or if that’s just Wilde’s tired eyes. “Mr Wilde? Hello?” Wilde could lower a lifeboat, and talk there..? No, Wilde doesn’t know how to lower a lifeboat. “Wilde, are you alright?”

Wilde blinks down at him. “Hm? Oh, yes, I’m fine. Just thinking. I don’t know where we could talk.” Bertie points to something. Wilde turns to look, and there’s a rope ladder. Dream logic is so wonderful, sometimes. Wilde throws it over the railing, and it very nearly touches the water. Wilde starts to climb down. About halfway, his head stops hurting. The world seems to solidify, becoming less dreamlike and more identifiable. Maybe it’s because he’s getting closer to the thing that’s been haunting his dreams for the past month or so.

Something grabs him by the waist, and Wilde finds himself being carefully lifted off of the ladder and set down on the little island. No, strike that, set down on the siren’s lap – which is even better, in Wilde’s opinion. “Hello,” says the siren, and there’s very little distance between his mouth and Wilde’s.

“Hello,” breathes Wilde, already leaning in.


	17. (although, one single tale remains

Zolf knocks on Azu’s door early. He used to be a holy man; he knows the hours. There’s a moment of shuffling, some quiet swearing, and then Azu peaks out of the door. “Captain?”

“Do you have time to talk? Later?” He was going to ask about _now,_ but Azu’s in her good nightshirt and there’s someone in her cabin grumbling sleepily, and Zolf’s not going to open that can of worms if he can help it. Good for her; Zolf doesn’t want to hear about it.

Azu blinks at him. “I’m not actually a priestess, Zolf,” she says carefully.

Zolf squints at her before he catches on. He grouses, “No, it’s not– I don’t need _confession,_ or whatever Aphrodite’s equivalent is, I just want someone to talk to that won’t snark at me.”

Azu hums thoughtfully. “I’ll find you when I have time,” she agrees softly, and Zolf nods in thanks. Azu smiles sleepily at him and closes the door.

Zolf is going back to his cabin when he hears Sasha ask, “What’d he want?” from inside Azu’s room. Zolf stops, starts to turn around so he can knock on the door and ask _when the hell that happened,_ and then throws his hands up and keeps walking. Good for Sasha, good for Azu. Zolf still doesn’t want to hear about it.

Gods, when did his ship turn into a bloody soap opera?


	18. waterlogged and lying

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u didnt like the drowning bit before now, ur probs not gonna be a fan of this. feel free to skip it.

Wilde wakes up suffocating.

He jerks upright, hands flying to his throat as he hacks up seawater onto his blanket. His hair feels dried out, and the skin on his hands feels _wrong,_ coated in some filmy residue. He stares at the damp spots on his covers dully, still heaving, feeling about to vomit. “What,” he gags, “the _fuck.”_


	19. of a siren who once saved

Azu’s cabin is clean is the loosest definition of the word, with a pile of blankets on the bed and colourful scraps of paper scattered about. Zolf sits on the edge of the bed awkwardly, because no matter how many times Azu invites him in so they can talk, it’s always so _nice_ that he feels out of place. Azu sits next to him and asks, “Is this about Hamid?”

Zolf glares at his hands. “Maybe,” he grits out. Damn her for knowing him so well. Azu nods thoughtfully. Zolf came here because Azu gives the best advice (and also she’s a good listener, unlike everyone else Zolf could talk to about this) but getting advice requires talking. And Zolf doesn’t want to do that, thanks. They sit in silence for a few moments before Azu clears her throat politely. Zolf glares at his hands harder. “Okay,” he says, “fine. I just– I talked about the link, right? The thing that makes me all—” he screws up his face and gestures— “about him?” Azu frowns.

“The ‘weird siren magic’, yes.” Zolf makes a frustrated noise of agreement. Azu hums wordlessly in understanding before asking, “Are you trying to figure out how to break it?” Zolf buries his face in his hands. It’s partially anger and mostly shame, and he _hates_ talking about this so much. Characters in a book, sure, he can look at their intentions and their tropes, he can explain why they’d be a good fit, he can examine their backstories and relate that to their current emotional turmoil, but if Zolf has to do any kind of examination of himself for someone else’s benefit, he might kill something.

Azu doesn’t press him further, and _gods_ does Zolf love her for that. He loves Sasha like a weird niece, and Grizzop’s more or less the one who runs things when Zolf can’t, but the ship’s doctor is the only one who knows when to leave well enough alone, or at the very least, how to move things along without forcing him into anything. The silence is awful, and Zolf knows that’s why she does it, but it still works. He mumbles into his hands, “I might.” More silence. Zolf clears his throat, tries again, “I’m not entirely sure it’s just the link. Anymore.” Azu still doesn’t say anything. Zolf looks between his fingers to look up at her, and her eyebrows are nearly at her hairline.

Very, _very_ carefully, she says, “Ah.”

“Yeah,” answers Zolf dryly, “that’s about how I feel, too.”


	20. a drowning man from dying)

Wilde manages. He always does. He gets too little sleep and has too much to do, but he manages. He’s _fine._

Except, the siren keeps calling him, and Wilde keeps answering, any rational thought or questions to ask disappearing like sandcastles at high tide. It’s infuriating. Wilde should start putting wax in his ears before he sleeps or something. Though, that might imply that Wilde sleeps, and gods know he hasn’t done that in a long time.

Hamid gives him a strange look over breakfast, and Wilde nearly swipes at his chin where the saltwater dripped earlier. “Are you… are you _alright,_ Oscar? You look tired.” Wilde shoots him the usual charming smile, and the way that Hamid’s eyes flicker with concern isn’t really something that should make Wilde want to scream, but— “You really ought to get more sleep,” Hamid says softly, an odd lilt to his voice.

Wilde scoffs. He really ought to, Hamid’s right, but he has no plans to listen. “I’m fine,” he says dismissively. Something two shades off from horror colours Hamid’s expression until the captain reaches out and grabs his partner by the wrist. Wilde keeps the charming smile in place for the rest of the meal, and as soon as everyone goes off to their business, he collapses into his bunk, hopelessly attempting to take a brief nap, at least. He can work on his editorial later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hamid: i'll magic wilde into taking care of himself  
> wilde: (is resistant to the magic because he's been making out with a different siren on the regular, not to mention the fact that he's been sung at for literal weeks and it hasn't killed him yet)  
> hamid: :O!!!


	21. (the legend goes — at least I think —

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the lads get their shit together

Zolf’s still mostly asleep, but there is the unmistakable press of dull claws swirling across his cheek and scratching through his beard. Zolf considers opening his eyes and asking what the hell Hamid think’s he’s doing, but that would probably make him stop. Zolf really doesn’t want him to stop. So Zolf just keeps his eyes closed and pretends to be sleeping as Hamid’s hands move up to slide along his scalp.

 _“I’d rather you than any queen,”_ Hamid sings softly. Zolf can’t comprehend the words, but the melody is so gentle that he goes still so that Hamid won’t stop. _“A better man I’ve never seen; nor shall I ever find. If only you were mine.”_ Hamid’s thumb brushes over Zolf’s bottom lip, and Zolf doesn’t think there’s any magic in this song. Zolf doesn’t think there’s any supernatural reason that Zolf wants so badly to kiss his siren. _“If only you weren’t bound to me,”_ Hamid sings, but he falters, the notes souring as he presses on. _“If you weren’t tied down to the sea, then maybe, you’d be… y-you…”_ He trails off into speaking, a strange lilting hiss that Zolf doesn’t understand, _“Oh, I’m so sorry, seashine. I’m so sorry I linked you to me, I didn’t mean it.”_ Hamid presses his face into Zolf’s neck, and Zolf can feel tears leaking from his siren’s eyes.

Zolf brings an arm around Hamid’s back. Hamid tenses against him, and Zolf really wishes he knew how to deal with emotions when they weren’t magically amplified and shoved in his face. “You’re alright,” he says quietly, because those seem like the best words available. Hamid seems like he’s about to protest, or push Zolf away, but Zolf kisses his temple and mumbles, “It’s okay, I promise.” Hamid gives a small, bitter laugh as he buries his face further into the crook of Zolf’s neck, and more tears fall silently from his eyes.

For a long moment, there’s silence. Just the creaking of the ship and the familiar dull roar of waves as Zolf trails his fingers along Hamid’s back in nonsense patterns. Eventually, Hamid protests, “It’s not okay,” so softly and so muffled against him that Zolf nearly can’t make it out, “y-you’re… I bound you to me, and you’re stuck with a murderous sea monster, and– a-and you weren’t supposed to hear me singing, _seashine.”_ Zolf doesn’t know exactly what he’s supposed to say to that, so he doesn’t say anything, just keeps tracing idly along his siren’s skin. “Singing takes away too much free will,” Hamid murmurs, sounding absolutely wrecked, and Zolf’s hands still for a moment. Hamid doesn’t move away, though — he stays settled against Zolf, one hand on his shoulder and the other curled under his head.

Zolf asks, “Did you put magic in that song?” Because if Hamid did, he couldn’t feel it. The song echoes distantly, the same way it always does, but it’s growing ever fainter. Zolf wonders if that means eventually, they won’t be linked anymore. As terrible as it is, and as much trouble as it is, Zolf is– he’s gotten used to Hamid. He doesn’t want to have to leave him.

The hand on the back of his neck tightens significantly, and when Hamid pulls away, Zolf’s breath stutters in his chest. Hamid doesn’t look radiant, or ethereal, or any of the other words Zolf’s used in the safety of his own thoughts. His siren’s nose and eyes are red from crying, and there are tear tracks down his cheeks, and his mouth is stil curled like he’s about to break into more sobs at any second. Hamid doesn’t look glamourous, he just looks… well, for lack of a better word, he looks _human._ “No — a-at least, I don’t think so? But my magic always seems to be, um, stronger? Than I intend it? S-so, I may have cast something and not known it, o-or?” He trails off, and the way he bites his lip is a habit that Zolf has noticed; it’s a nervous tic instead of something that drives Zolf to madness.

Zolf isn’t moving under any spell or song when he moves a hand up to Hamid’s face. Hamid’s eyes go wide, and his pupils go wider, eclipsing their usual metallic glint. “Can I kiss you?” Zolf asks, and this has happened before, but he’s never been the one to ask, and he’s never wanted to kiss him so badly without his siren’s song ringing in his ears.

Hamid stammers breathlessly for a moment. “I-I– no, no that’s– no. You’ll regret it later,” he says.

Something bubbles up in Zolf’s chest at that. He asks, “So now you know me better than I do?” and it’s carefully cold because otherwise it’d come out scorched with indignation.

Hamid starts drawing back, and Zolf drops his hand. Hamid is trying to make an excuse for himself, but all he’s really doing is babbling. “It’s just the song, Zolf, there’s not– i-it’s not actually something you want, the link is just too strong, and I probably sang something magic without meaning to, and– and all these things, really! There’s no– you don’t actually love me, you _can’t,_ that’s not how things work—”

“I never said I loved you,” Zolf interrupts, more than a little snippish, “I’ve only known you for a month and a bit, obviously I don’t love you. I just _like_ you.” Hamid stares. Zolf glares back, because that’s a fair bit more candid than he wanted to be so early in the morning, and if Hamid says anything about that, Zolf might throw him overboard, link be damned. “And that’s not… there’s no _songs_ involved with that, I’m just lonely, and you were there.” Hamid keeps staring at him, and Zolf closes his eyes so he won’t have to see his siren’s face.

Hamid is still and silent, and Zolf feels something drop out from his heart and thud hollowly in the pit of his stomach. Sirens can’t even have feelings, probably. Not like that. Zolf can’t tell if he’s angry at Hamid for linking them in the first place, or angry at himself for going and getting emotionally attached to the thing that was going to eat him. “Do… do you feel different?” Hamid asks tentatively.

Zolf sighs and grumbles, “I feel stupid.” Because he _does,_ because admitting feelings for someone that literally doesn’t have the capacity to feel the same way is just _embarrassing._

Hamid laughs nervously. “Ah, um, sorry, it’s okay, the song makes everyone a bit—”

“There’s not a song, Hamid.”

“N-no, there isn’t, I focused, and it should be gone, now.” Zolf opens his eyes incredulously and raises an eyebrow at him. Hamid smiles, and Zolf can see the anxiety hidden behind his teeth. “So, um, you shouldn’t want anything ridiculous, now. Sorry, about before, I just—”

Zolf brings his hand up to grab Hamid by the back of the neck, and the siren tenses. “How do you want me to say it, Hamid? Do you want me to point out that I let you into bed with me, even after you went mad and bit me bloody? Or will it get through to you if I say that you don’t look gorgeous, you look like a person I’d like to keep waking up to? Maybe, if I tell you that I like it when you sing because of how happy you sound instead of how enchanting the song is, it’ll finally get it into your fucking head that I don’t like you because I have to, I like you because you’re _you.”_ Hamid’s eyes are still black, swallowed up by his pupils, and he stares at Zolf with something like wonder and something like shock. Zolf lets go, now that he’s sure that Hamid’s heard him. 

“Oh,” says Hamid breathlessly. Then, “If you– i-if that’s really– I mean– I think I’d rather like it if you kissed me, actually? If you’re sure I’m not enthralling you.” Zolf raises his other eyebrow. Hamid backtracks quickly, stumbling over his syllables, “Because, I mean, I-I think I’ve lo– er, liked you for some time? Just, d-due to the, um, the logistics of binding someone to you, or, t-to me, actually, the _general_ you, and, um, I’ve really really wanted to kiss you since… b-basically since I came onboard? But I didn’t want to take advantage of the thrall, because that would be in poor taste, and also it would’ve made you hate me and that would have frayed the link, a-a-and I rather like? Being linked with someone? With you, specifically _you,_ this time, because your feelings are so—”

“Hamid?”  
“Hm?”  
“Shut up.”

And then Zolf kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY its been like TWELVE THOUSAND WORDS jesus fucking CHRIST,


	22. the siren sang too strong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO Y'ALL DON'T KNOW HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO WRITE THIS CHAPTER BUT LIKE. MONTHS. LITERAL MONTHS.

A damsel in distress is a young woman, usually some form of princess in a pink, sparkly dress, who can’t do anything but be beautiful and in need of saving. She doesn’t have a personality, exists only as a prize or a promise to the hero, and is generally a weak plot point used by inexperienced (or just plain incapable) writers. Wilde doesn’t like using damsels in distress in his original works.

This isn’t the point.

The point is, Wilde is beginning to feel like a bit of a damsel himself, and this is hardly how he wanted his life to roll downhill, but it’s this or finding himself in a dead-end job, so honestly, being a damsel is almost preferable. The point is, Wilde wakes up the way he usually does: half-choked, with water in his lungs and coating his throat, already gagging to force it onto the cabin’s floor. The point is, Wilde wakes up the way he usually _doesn’t:_ held more or less entirely by something warm and wet and familiar. “Oh,” shrieks Hamid, “great! He’s awake!” He is awake, yes, but he’s also being held carefully off the ground by his siren, which is hardly something that would happen in the waking world. “Would you put him down, Bertie?” Hamid asks, sounding as if someone’s wrung him out like a washcloth.

Wilde is being shifted, suddenly, and he nearly falls over as the ship’s deck rocks beneath his feet. “There we are!” Bertie announces, and Wilde has to keep leaning on him. He can’t open his eyes yet, too nauseous and unsettled to try and look at the world. “Are you quite alright, Mr Wilde?” Wilde barely manages to swallow down a scoff, because he can already tell that would lead him to laugh more than a bit hysterically.

“Everything’s spinning and I think I’m hallucinating a siren,” he manages to grit out, and there’s a long silence that follows the words. He cracks open an eye. Sure enough, the man holding him looks like Bertie, golden scales and all. When Wilde takes stock of his surroundings, he realises that the siren is sat on the deck, as tall as he can keep himself, holding Wilde more or less aloft so that he’s still on his feet. The rest of the crew (not many of them, though that make sense, it’s almost completely dark out – what time is it, anyway?) is gawking at them, along with the captain’s boyfriend. Hamid is more-or-less undressed, his hair sleep-rumpled and the lines of his sheets pressed into his skin, and there’s no blanket over his legs to hide the fact that he doesn’t actually _have_ legs. He has a tail, in shades of shimmering brass that differ just slightly enough for there to be noticeable patches of variation along the length of it. “Hallucinating two sirens,” he corrects, shutting his eyes again, “can someone please take me to my room and tell the doctor I’ve come down with some horrific disease?”

Another length of silence. The ship creaks. Wilde begins to wonder if he’s actually drowning, and this is all the dying throes of an overly creative mind. There’s a soft growl from Bertie, and someone shifts back awkwardly. “I’m just going to take him to bed,” a crewmember assures him.

“You most certainly are not,” Bertie asserts, “if _anyone_ is going to be taking Mr Wilde to bed—”

“To his _cabin,_ Bertie!” Hamid hisses. “And we can get things sorted, okay? But it’ll be better if he rests, first.” It’s the same placating tone Wilde has heard a million times before, but without the odd lilt to it. (Without an almost-song clinging to the words, but– Wilde is hallucinating. Hamid isn’t actually a siren, and Bertie isn’t even real. It’s just his brain, drawing from what it knows the captain’s boyfriend is like.) Bertie huffs indignantly, and Wilde feels himself being held just a bit tighter. This isn’t getting him anywhere. He’s not stuck in a dead-end job, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to start swooning and being utterly useless. He gets his feet set solidly against the deck and opens his eyes again, firmly ignoring the siren sitting beside him and the other siren watching him intently with golden eyes. He takes a step forward and nearly collapses, the seawater in his lungs moving with him and making him want to vomit again, but the crewmember from before catches him around the waist.

Wilde clears his throat. “Is Azu awake?”

“No, but I’ll go fix that,” says Sasha from nowhere. She certainly wasn’t on deck that Wilde could see. Then again, she never seems to do anything that Wilde can see, and he’s pretty sure it’s part of the reason she’s even on the ship at all. “C’mon, Zhi, let’s go make sure he doesn’t drown dry.” The crewmember (Zhi, apparently) makes an affirming noise, and Wilde finds himself being helped to the medbay.


	23. the drowned man was kind to it

Hamid is on deck, arguing in the odd, hissing language Zolf’s decided to call Fish (in the privacy of his own head, of course; Hamid has made it perfectly clear that he’s not a fish) with _another siren,_ this one much bigger and paler, but just as shiny. “Oh, what the fuck,” is the first thing out of Zolf’s mouth, and honestly, he feels it’s a totally reasonable reaction to this. Gabriel sighs deeply, like he’s the one who just found his— boyfriend, maybe? partner? siren, his siren— arguing with an oversized goldfish in front of half the ship.

“They’ve been arguing for three-quarters of an hour,” the Spaniard says wearily.

“Right,” Zolf answers, “right, and the reason no one cares that there are two merpeople on my ship is..?”

Gabriel looks a bit like he’s been caught in a trap. He starts to stammer out something, but Tiyula drops down from the rigging with a thud and says plainly, “Because we all knew you were fucking a fish, so another one turning up is just like, ‘oh, must be Tuesday.’ I mean, it’s Friday, but the point stands, yeah?” Gabriel turns to shoot her a truly murderous look, which she completely ignores.

Zolf blinks at her. “I’m not fucking him,” he manages, because it’s not like he can deny the rest of the sentence. “I’m– you both know Hamid’s a siren.” 

Gabriel has the decency to look uncomfortable as he nods and pulls out a _copy of Zolf’s keys,_ sneaky son of a bitch, but Tiyula just grins at him like the shark she is. “Yeah, and I also know what sirens do to sailors.” There’s no small amount of smug suggestion in her tone, nor in her waggling eyebrows. Gabriel smacks her in the shoulder.

Zolf genuinely doesn’t have the mental capacity to deal with _those_ implications ever, let alone at three in the morning while two mythical sea spirits argue on his ship in full sight of everyone. “I– wh– _I am asexual,_ first of all, and _second of all,_ even if I weren’t, my– my _sex life_ would be _none of your concern!”_ He can hear himself getting higher with indignation and embarrassment, but he’s pretty sure having a subordinate loudly and shamelessly announce that he’s sleeping with a merman warrants both of those emotions. It’s three in the morning, he just had a nightmare and found the bed empty next to him, and the person who should have been in it was having a conversation in Fish with a big, shiny looking asshole; Zolf has done nothing if not earned the right of screeching a little bit.

“You never told me you were ace,” Tiyula says with a pout.

Zolf raises an eyebrow at her. “I never told you my boyfriend was a siren, either, but you seemed to have figured that out on your own.”

Gabriel looks at his shoes. Tiyula slings an arm around his shoulders and declares, “Nah, Gabby told me! Thought I was one of the ones who knew, and I wasn’t, but I am now!” Zolf levels a glare at Gabriel, who continues staring at his shoes like the leather is suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. “I mean, the only person who didn’t know was Oscar, but he just got an eyeful, so. Y’know.” Zolf sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. He loves Tiyula, really, he does, but she’s best loved in small doses. “He’s actually why the hot one’s up here? Like, he just sleepwalked right over the rail, and we were all like ‘ah fuck,’ but we couldn’t see him, right? And then Gabby and Zhi went all weird and lowered a rope down, and then he was hauling Oscar up over the side like a flashier Fabio.”

“Tiyula.”

“Yeah, captain?”

“We’re not going to talk about the fact that you called a glitzy catfish hot, for the sake of my sanity if not your dignity, because gods know you don’t have any. Gabriel’s in charge. The ship had better not wreck.” He didn’t even bother to put his leg on, and his crutch thuds loudly against the ship’s floorboards as he walks back to his cabin to the soundtrack of his crew bickering and two sirens hissing at each other. He’s decided to wrap all of this up into a neat little bundle labelled ‘for Morning Zolf’ and go back to sleep.

It’s probably not a great decision, but hell if it’s not the one he’s making.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ITS HIATUS TIME BABY!!!!!! WHO KNOWS IF THIS IS EVER GETTING FINISHED??? NOT ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> find me on tumblr @roswyrm and try to hold me accountable for my crimes.


End file.
